What GreenEyed Monster?
by Dailenna
Summary: [Royai] Rumours say that she's done with her solitary nature, and Roy Mustang is NOT HAPPY.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA – Arakawa Hiromu does.

**Notes:** Written for a competition. Requirements: includes the words **Restaurant**, **Gentlemen**, **Dance**, **Hayate**, **Bathroom**, **Compliment**; must be 1500-2300 words; must be Romance revolving around Royai. The required words are in bold in my story, to make them easier to find. My piece is 2249 words.

"**What Green-Eyed Monster?**" by **Dailenna**

The crickets were chirping, the birds were feasting, the air was stifling, and the rumours were spreading. It was that time of year again. And 'stifling' wasn't the only way to describe the air. There was something in it, affecting the inhabitants of Central. Something filling and thrilling, and giddy and chilling all at once, depending on where you stood. Yes, it was those rumours that put this infection into the air: love.

But that was all depending on where you stood.

Roy Mustang didn't stand. He sat, and he worked, glancing up every now and then to see if his silent watcher had forgotten him yet and he could put his pen down.

Riza Hawkeye didn't stand either. She sat, and read, waiting for the moment in time when that pause of a scribbling pen actually meant the Colonel had finished his work rather than that he was hoping for a break. Every time the noise stopped she raised the closest eyebrow to him, and a lamenting sigh could be heard all the way down the hallway before he returned to his work.

He couldn't explain his misery except that in the past few weeks, Roy Mustang had heard so many engagements announced that he felt sick. This exaggeration was merely that, until he heard certain other rumours . . . other rumours which his present company seemed completely unaware of.

The talk about Central was that Miss Riza Hawkeye, the very pinnacle of what was unattainable, had been seen _out_. Yes, _out_. Oh, but let's not forget the most important part of this: _out_ with a _man_.

If anything could have infuriated Roy more, he didn't know what it was. It wasn't that he had asked Miss Hawkeye to come _out_ with him and had been spurned, but rather that he had not even known that she was allowing herself to be _out_. His disappointment was based upon the hope that she would have at least notified him of her situation. It was due to this infuriation and preoccupation of mind that Roy completed his work well before he was allowed to leave Central Headquarters.

"See that? All finished, and with more than an hour left before we can go home." His pen dropped to the desk, and he wriggled his fingers to release the ache that had begun a few hours ago – incidentally coinciding with the commencement of writing.

Miss Hawkeye finally looked up from her book, putting a bookmark in and coming over to check his sheets of paper, every one with a signature at the bottom. "Sir, this one doesn't require a signature, and you've still–"

He leaned forwards. "I think I would know if I had completed my work," he told her forcefully, almost crossing his fingers beneath his desk in hopes that she wouldn't make him go through them again. Obviously he was convincing, because she left it at that.

"If you'll just take these to be filed, you're done for the day. You may as well get some fitness training in before going home."

Roy almost fell out of his chair. Usually at the end of the day as he finished writing, she would immediately disappear down the hall with the documents to file them herself, rather than ask him to. And the last time that Roy Mustang had participated in fitness training had been so long ago that he couldn't remember it. He didn't pause to think that that may have been the reason as to her suggestion.

Not even realising that he had left his desk, let alone his office, Roy found himself halfway down the hallway to hand in his papers for filing. The surprised expression on the face of the secretary caught his eye, and he flashed her back his own sparkling smile before returning to his office, once more mulling over less pleasant thoughts.

Stopping in front of his subordinates' workstation, Roy considered stopping and chatting, and did so. The conversation's lackadaisical manner began slowly, as each of them was still in the process of completing their work. When they put their completed papers to the side, the banter became more passionate, and expanded to things they all understood.

"Mrs Hughes has limited her husband to one roll of film a week, apparently!". . ."Did you hear that the Fuhrer is considering an alteration to the military uniform? He hasn't announced what it is yet . . .". . ."There was another sighting of the Homunculi yesterday". . ."Fullmetal's last tantrum ended up costing the repairs department over a thousand". . ."Denny hasn't shut up about some girl he's madly in love with."

"Has Havoc told you yet, Colonel? He's had a steady girlfriend for the past week!"

Yes, Roy had heard that. In fact, Havoc had come to him a week ago to most specifically ask him if he could stay away from this girl. It had been one of the most amusing things Roy had heard in some time, and he had agreed.

"You wouldn't believe what Sasha and I saw when we went out last night!" Havoc breathed, leaning forwards. "I thought my eyes were going to fall out of my head!" Frowns passed from face to face until Havoc finally chose to continue. "We were at Sasha's favourite **restaurant**, Blue Swan, and you know how when you talk to someone, you look in their direction? I was just telling Sasha that the waiter had had his eye on her, and she was laughing – she has the most adorable laugh! – when I looked over to the side where the waiter had been standing when he served us, and on the other side of the room, who did I see but _Hawkeye_ and some guy!"

There it was – an eyewitness account to the misery of Roy Mustang. As the others contemplated this mystery aloud and questioned the witness further, he took the sign as a morbid assurance of his failure as a connoisseur of women. He had managed to romance the hardest of women, yet the stubborn Lieutenant had never so much as batted an eyelid in his direction.

The conversation moved onto other topics, and when Roy glanced up at the clock on the wall – the clock that had been removed from his office into the hallway because the minute hand had coincidentally gone missing after a visit from the Elrics – he was surprised to notice that the big hand had almost slipped down to the pointy VI at the bottom. Give another six degrees . . . Roy did the quick conversion in his mind, and decided to use the remaining ten minutes in some way that could benefit him.

Several corridors away from the other men, he looked up at the sign next to a door in confusion, and Roy Mustang wasn't a person who liked being confused. After almost a whole minute of trying to puzzle out if this was the door he was looking for, he pushed it open and stepped in.

A cloud of steam surrounded the giant room, and showers were running. _And_ voices were talking. Voices a little too feminine for Roy's liking. This was _not_ the men's **bathroom**. He spun around and almost flung himself out of the door before registering the snippet of conversation he had overheard.

" –you bringing him to the Officer's Ball tomorrow night?"

"How could I not? He wouldn't let me go on my own, and–"

When the overtly familiar second voice clicked in his mind, he was almost tempted to return, but Roy was all too aware of the ramifications to attempt it. Miss Hawkeye must have taken her own advice and done some fitness training herself. Instead he walked along, awaiting the next male to cross his path to refresh his direction to the men's room.

Miss Hawkeye usually spent these celebration nights at home, taking care of her puppy, Black **Hayate**, but it appeared that instead, Roy would be meeting this mysterious stranger all too soon, the next night. He had had a tuxedo permanently on stand-by in his closet since his best friend's wedding, and so did not suffer the same need to rush out and buy one that a lot of the other male officers did. The female officers were more organised – they had been talking about the ball for the past month, and the majority of their communications had been on what they had already purchased for the cause.

Finally, Roy was allowed to go home. He despised the sitting and waiting until everything was finished – although it was infinitely more appealing than doing more work – and set off on his way.

-

Summer was the perfect season for a ball; although the day times were sweltering, the night was cool enough to **dance**, but not so cold that everyone had to wear overcoats with their evening dress. It was quite a sight to see: the stars were twinkling, the moon was shining, and the candles were glowing. Tables were circled by military officers talking animatedly amongst themselves, and a small orchestra played a lively jig in the background.

And the women looked stunning.

At any usual Officer's Ball, Roy would have taken up a position in the room with a good view of every person, specifically to observe the ravishing sights before him. He would scout out the best of the women hanging off the arms of other men, and perhaps interrupt them for a dance, should she appear interested enough in the offer.

At _this_ Officer's Ball, Roy had taken up a position in the room with a good view of every person, specifically so that he could find Miss Hawkeye and her associated partner. They should have been seated somewhere close by, as she was in the same division as Roy.

He didn't manage to catch sight of them until dinner was served, and his first reaction was to size up the other man. He appeared tall, but was sitting down, and so his height was distorted. He was blonde, broad-shouldered, and seemed quite at ease with each of the occupants of his table. As far as Roy could tell, the other man was being the perfect **gentleman**. Had he not been as such, Roy would not have managed the ever-so-slight appearance of complacency he had managed.

When dinner finished and the orchestra struck up once again – now a more dignified waltz – Roy noticed the brief pause before Miss Hawkeye's partner tapped her arm and held out a hand. It was agonising seeing the slight smile on her face before she assented and they went off to dance lazy circles around the floor. Roy spent the time gleefully criticising the man's syncopated rhythm, which only served to complement his Lieutenant's accurate sway. He would be sure to **compliment** her about it when he managed to speak with her.

"Sir, you've been really distracted tonight: you haven't said a word."

Roy turned around. "Hmm?"

Havoc paused for a minute, then mumbled "never mind" and swivelled round to ask Sasha if she needed another drink.

By the time Roy had turned back, the dance was ending and the two were returning to their seats. He stood up quickly, and attempted to make his way over without hurrying. At his approach, they both looked up.

"Good evening, Lieutenant," he said. "And . . ?"

The other man stood up and looked Roy in the eye. "Silan Ashbury," he said, giving a firm handshake. He would have been a year or two younger than Roy, and at least half a foot taller. "You're Riza's boss?"

The question held some promise – it meant that she had been talking about him. Even after answering in the affirmative he didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing until Silan smiled and sat back down, gesturing for Roy to pull up a chair. It couldn't have been anything too detrimental.

"I was actually hoping for a dance," he said, turning his head to the Lieutenant. Her eyes briefly flickered to her partner, but he smiled and ushered her on, and so she took the hand Mustang had proffered, and went out to the dance floor with him.

They spun about elegantly for some time as Mustang attempted to compose his thoughts, and allowed himself to really see her. An elegant dress and a few tendrils of hair falling around her face emanated an entirely different image to that of the usual Lieutenant Hawkeye.

"You look beautiful," he murmured when the pace of the dance gave him a chance. Her eyes met his guardedly. "Who is he?" Mustang's head nodded over to the table they had come from.

An elegant smile graced her mouth. She seemed like a completely different person. "My half-brother is visiting for the next week. We haven't seen each other for a year." Mustang almost dropped dead from shock, there on the dance floor. Maybe he should have seen it coming – rumours were too inaccurate to base hearts on. He was unaware of the blissful grin that had crept onto his own face. "My mother's first marriage," she explained briefly.

They spun the rest of the dance silently, each smiling their own success. When the last note played, she took a step back, to return to her table, but before his Lieutenant – yes, _his_ Lieutenant – could walk away, he pulled her close again, and the orchestra flared up in a new piece.


End file.
